Culture Shock

Legitimately in Paradise!

Ugh.  How is it that I passionately recommit to writing more often, even vowing to post three times weekly in November, yet I haven't blogged in nearly two months?  Life keeps getting in the way.  My poor kid has had three ear infections in the past three months (he ended up in the ER last week; but he's all right now) and I was quite preoccupied with my first-ever passport-required vacation.

To Jamaica.

Which is what I'm sharing with you today.

Way back in February of this year, my husband asked if I'd mind him spending Valentine's Day with my dad at a car show.  I DID mind, a bit, but since every attempt we've ever made to "be romantic and go out to dinner" on V-Day has not gone well, I told him to go.  They had a good time, and a few weeks later, Ross got a phone call that he'd won a trip to Jamaica via a contest sponsored by a local radio station.

Postcard-perfect.

Yeah, right.  Most of us have heard that too-good-to-be-true line, only to learn that you've got to invest in a time share or travel club.  No thank you.  Well, it turns out the prize was legit, and I needed to get my passport.  We had to use our tickets and reservations before a certain time, so we elected to go just before my birthday in November.  My parents would watch our son for the five days we were gone, and we'd return home on Veterans' Day, thus enabling my husband to use just 2 vacation days.  We're so clever.

I spent several months envisioning myself in a chaise lounge chair at the pool or on the beach, glistening with sweat and sunscreen, quietly baking myself to a warm golden brown.  I made several attempts to lose enough weight to match the vision I'd had of myself, to no avail.  I'm still at my "default" weight - the weight my body seems to like best regardless of how much or how little I eat or exercise (unless I am seriously counting calories).  I lamented to my husband that, even though I was determined to wear a two-piece suit, I would not be happy in it.

I needn't have worried.  At the family-friendly resort, there was every body type represented: boyishly skinny, morbidly obese, pregnant, curvy, scarred, pale, bronze - and every single person what there to enjoy himself or herself.  I was almost shocked.  Where I had spent my entire life avoiding situations that would require anything other than at least a tank top and skirt, suddenly I was free to accept my body and have fun using it.  I couldn't believe how freeing it was to realize that - honestly - people were very likely NOT looking at my body to find fault with it.  (Truth is, that's probably the case a lot more often than we think.  Not EVERYONE is  ALWAYS looking at our bodies to try to rip them apart or judge us, despite what we might feel.)  I wasn't trying to be sexy or trashy; I just wanted to be brave.  For me, wearing a 2-piece suit was not about making a statement about modesty (suuuuuuch a hot topic is Christian circles these days...), or about being pro-plus size, or really anything other than letting go of shame.  Even at my "skinniest", I was able to find plenty of faults with my appearance.  Should I suddenly drop 45 pounds overnight, I am fairly certain there will be freckles, lines, split ends, cracked nails, an a myriad of other things for me to condemn.  So what good does it do to hate myself for my weight or my figure?  Should I hide because I haven't been able to drop the baby weight?  Should I spend my days in the shade because I have a pooch where I carried my son?  Because my arms aren't toned?  Because my thighs touch?  Because I prefer cookie butter to celery?

(Okay, eating healthy is a whole 'nother story - but my point here is that I have to accept my body and all its flaws, love it for what it can do and had done, and move forward to take care of it - whatever that means to me.)

At any rate, I didn't just wear a two-piece and feel confident.  I also swam in the ocean.  Big deal, you might say - your family does a beach vacation every year.  Well, for me it IS a big deal.  I don't know how to swim, and I've always been afraid of the water.  I avoid public pools and almost drowned in high school gym class, assuming that I could just hop right into the deep end and be fine.  Yet, in the dazzlingly blue water of the Caribbean sea, with the security of my husband nearby, I slowly plodded along with a graceless doggy paddle.  But I was swimming.  I wasn't touching the seabed.  Strands of seaweed wrapped around my arms and legs, and saltwater lapped at my lips.  The brilliant midday sun shone on the gentle waves, and I yelled out, "I'm a mermaid!"

Saltwater tastes awful!

So, that was pretty far from the truth, I guess, but I had a revelation that day.  A few, actually.  First: I can totally see why people are obsessed with beach vacations.  The sun, sand, and sea combine for a trinity of peaceful beauty that you really can't find anywhere else.  The ocean can be both calming and chaotic, and that's a huge part of its appeal.  So much raw, unfeeling beauty that can soothe you or steal you away.  The second revelation I had was that it's okay to face your fears little by little.  I don't know about you, but whenever I hear the phrase "face your fears", I automatically imagine St. George and the dragon.  Or Prince Philip and Maleficent.  You know, the sword and shield, the valiant hero, the fire-breathing lizard.  The all-or-nothing, now-or-never final showdown.  But that's simply not how overcoming fear always works.  I had to first decide to take steps toward the ocean.  Then I had to take them.  Then I had to trust my husband that I would be safe.  Then I had to believe that.  Then, I had to trust myself.

And I'm so glad I did.  

Those brilliant and life-changing realizations aside, the trip itself was pretty wonderful.  Although I broke down emotionally our first day there (I hate flying, missed my baby, and hadn't eaten or rested enough), things picked up quickly, and we enjoyed amazing food, beautiful weather - even the afternoon and evening rain was beautiful, met a fun couple from Canada, avoided serious sunburn, and had some much-needed romantic time away from our beloved baby.

Sunset on the water.

Something I struggled with, however - and my former college roomie pals can attest to this - was the vastly different culture I experienced upon first arriving in Jamaica.  Chaos, noise, disorder - maybe you imagined things to be much more mellow as Jamaica is the homeplace of reggae, Bob Marley, and the glorification of marijuana.  Maybe that's the case for day-to-day living here, for some of the people, and once we arrived at the resort, that spirit of relaxation did seem to take over.  But the hustling at the airport, the terrifying two-lane roads (drivers use the left side and passing in no-passing zones is expected) - these things really jarred me.  I'm an introvert, an introvert bordering on anxious, sometimes, and I was left feeling shaken and exhausted by our first few hours on the island.  There was also the assumption, either because we were Americans or because we were simply foreigners, that we were in Jamaica to party and get high.  Weed is legal there, up to a certain amount, so it would not have been wrong for us to partake.

I think Ross was convinced he'd NEVER get
me to the beach.

However, Ross and I are not "party people". I'm pretty sure that we are the textbook definition of "not party people".  We rarely drink, although sometimes we enjoy a glass of red wine with our Netflix, pajamas, and pizza dates.  See?  I told you.  We're boring.  We don't even do "Netflix and chill".  We do "Netflix and fall asleep halfway through the movie". We politely but emphatically replied to every person inquiring about our plans that we were there to enjoy the beach and work on our (nonexistent) tans.  As alcohol was part of the all-inclusive nature of the resort, we did have a drink with dinner most nights, but that was it.  I can honestly say that, as a freshly-minted 34-year-old, I've never been drunk in my life and I'm okay with that.  I've also never been high.  Yeah - I was mostly the goody-two-shoes in high school...and college...and I think I actually still am, so never mind.  It's just who I am.

The alligator won, BTW...

We stayed at the Grand Palladium and it truly was beautiful.  There were three buffet restaurants and five ethnic restaurants, and the food was pretty amazing.  Something that struck us as interesting in the ethnic restaurants was that we as Americans really have a skewed image of portion sizes.  When Ross and I ordered appetizers, they were exactly that.  A few bites of a delicious and well-prepared food item, presented artfully.  In America it's a cinch to order an appetizer that spoils your whole meal because you're too full to eat your entree!  Determined not to be close-minded, culinarily speaking, I tried several different foods at the buffets: ginger-seafood soup (with whole prawns still floating in the pot), jerk chicken (yes, it's very good), and braised kidney. 

#bodyacceptance

The kidney ended up in my napkin, TBH.

Ross proudly announced that we'd checked two items off his "marriage bucket list".  We swam in the ocean, and we played mini-golf.  I know it's hard to believe, but we had not, until last week, even enjoyed mini-golf as a married couple.  Granted, the "course" on the island was pretty pitiful and there were no real challenges, but we did it and Ross did end up with a hole-in-one.  At one point, I think I missed the ball three times, then finally kicked it into the hole.  

My grandfather would be so ashamed.

I really missed Ronen, more than I thought I would.  There were a lot of children at the resort, everywhere from a few months old to school-age kids.  There were provisions made for children, including a day-care center and special entertainment just for them.  In hindsight, I think Ronen would have enjoyed certain aspects of the trip, but I don't know if it would have been worth the trouble to get him his passport and work our schedule around his.  Especially since he's not walking yet and has recently been plagued with ear infections.  Maybe next time.

On a more light-hearted note, I wanted to share some things I learned - specifically as a petite/plus-sized, curly-haired, pale female traveling to a Caribbean island.  Here are my tips:

Yes, I found an island cat.
Two, actually,

1. Your hair will not obey you.  If you straighten it, it will curl.  If you curl it, it will frizz.  You will NOT have "mermaid hair".  Don't bother with products.  Throw it in a messy bun and be at peace with your world.

2. Shapewear will be useless.  It is so humid that the spandex will literally melt to your flesh.  Just be pudgy and be free, sister.  Embrace your curves.

3. You might think maxi dresses would be your savior, but unless you bring ones cut from actual, breathable material, you're dead wrong, lady.

4. BABY POWDER BABY POWDER BABY POWDER.  If your thighs touch in any way, you MUST PROTECT THEM FROM THEMSELVES or you will have heat rash for weeks after you return.  Trust me on this one.

5. If you're not going to the clubs, leave the clubwear at home.  Sexy strappy platforms are great for, like, full-body photo ops and that's pretty much it.

6. Protect your lips SWEET MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS SACRED PROTECT YOUR LIPS!  Ross and I were pretty careful with sunscreen but I forgot my lips and now, a week later, they are still stiff, sore, and peeling.  Ouch, ouch.

"Caribbean Blue" is a REAL color!

7. Don't be bullied into buying anything you don't want.  The hotel employees were pretty persistent when it came to pushing spa packages and whatnot.  Couples are better targets, so Ross and I frequently split up when walking past them, and met up again at our destination.  Also, those photographers aren't just being nice - they are employees, too, and that great shot they got of you in the ocean (without your awareness, by the way), will cost you $50.  Ross and I avoided this by looking unhappy with each other whenever he came around.  It was our private joke.  We looked like the angriest couple at the resort in order to avoid harassment.  You have to do what you have to do.


8. Your swimsuit should be designed for swimming, if you will be swimming.  Two-piece, one-piece, whatever.  Just make sure you can actually move in it without a wardrobe malfunction, unless you just plan on lying around looking pretty.  Which is fine, too, really.

In spite of our antics, we actually DID and DO
enjoy each others' company...

9.  Leggings for the plane.  I saw women traipsing through the airport in fancy scarves and stiletto boots and that's cool and everything, but I'm all leggings and flip-flops and glasses and a jacket and crosswords.  I didn't have anyone to impress.  Oh, and if you need compression stockings for travel, DO IT.  For your health.  Seriously.  

10.  Be open to trying new things.  Which might include accepting and actually loving your own body for the first time ever.  Island magic!

Recommitted

I don't have studies to back it up, but my opinion is that, in most cases, a relationship works best when there is genuine, serious, and heartfelt commitment involved.  I don't know - is that common sense?  Do we even need studies to prove that?

With that in mind, I'm realizing that there is a particular relationship in my life that is not working, that is less-than-healthy.  It's time to commit, time to confess my love and show it through my actions.  

How can I call myself a writer if it's something I do only when it's convenient?  I mean, when you're a parent, you're a parent 24/7, asleep or awake.  You've made a decision to care for a child - or several children.  There are times when other people help you, but you don't stop being a parent.  When you're a spouse, it's the same thing.  You've committed to this other human being, and even if you don't like him or her very much, you're still married, and hopefully things will get better.  When you're a person of faith - any faith - you've decided to adopt a set of beliefs or principles, and you plan to stick by them, regardless of what people think of you.  When you're an athlete, you're always thinking about how to improve your performance, even if it's the off-season.

So why have I been treating writing so casually?  It isn't about time, not really, because we do make time for that which is important to us.  Plus, if I cut back on Instagram even a little bit per day, and replace that time with writing, I'll have written the next Great American Novel in, oh, maybe a month.  It's not about talent, because in-the-business people I trust - not just my "buddies" - have affirmed that I am a good writer.  It's not about ideas, because I have storylines for three major novels running through my head at any given time, and I can churn out a short skit for my teenage actors in just a day or two - there is no shortage of ideas for church groups, believe it or not (I mean, the Bible is pretty beefy source material).

Sooo, what is it?

It's with a measure of shame that I admit it's my fear.  Fear of failure.  Of not completing these books that are constantly - CONSTANTLY - rolling around in my head.  Of completing them and being unable to submit them to an editor.  Of submitting them and being rejected for publishing.  Of being published and then overwhelmingly negatively reviewed.  Of writing subject material too "religious" for non-Christians and too "secular" for Christians (I feature Christian themes and characters in my work, and I even my more mature themes are still family-friendly, but I would not consider my work appropriate for Tyndale or Zondervan).  Of being thought of as unoriginal.  Or "churchy".  Or too romantic.  Or too realistic. Or too flowery.  Or too boring.  Or too obvious.  

Now that these fears are out of my head, they don't seem too different than any others.  We hesitate to tell others how we feel because we're afraid we might be rebuffed.  That the other person wants to just "be friends".  We are afraid to ask our bosses for raises because we might be told "no" - and then we'll question our own value and worth.  We are afraid to parent our children, rather than befriend them, because we don't want to be seen as "mean".

So, ultimately, that means that my fear of failure is no different than anyone else's, and I just need to suck it up and dive in.  I need to re-evaluate my relationship with writing.  I'm not happy with  our infrequent but passionate trysts.  Seeing each other once or twice a week isn't really healthy for a couple; so why should I think writing once or twice a week would work for me?  

Dear Writing,

It's not that there is someone else.  You're still the only hobby for me.  I've just let things get in our way lately, and I'm sorry if you've felt neglected.  You're still a source of joy for me, something I dearly love.  I've let life and stupid things like clickbait articles get in the way of us being together, and I promise that I'm working to change that.  I won't be afraid of you anymore.  You were given to me as a gift. You help me see things more clearly; you help me organize my own thoughts.  You let me live a hundred different lives, and re-imagine my own past.  I appreciate that you've never left me and always been waiting for me to keep my promises to you, and it doesn't matter if you and I ever make money; let's just stay together.  For the long haul.

Yours forever,

Rebecca L. Godlove

Rational Words, Irrational Love

I wrote the majority of this post a few days ago but hesitated in publishing it.  My pastor's message yesterday morning was about the mission of reconciliation that all believers have, and it also was about allowing the Holy Spirit to guide our interactions with others, rather than vehemently and passionately witnessing - without BEING a witness.  It is with that encouragement that I decide to share my thoughts here.

Christianity is not a "rational" faith.

We hold to the belief that there is a force beyond ourselves that created the universe, yet sees humans as individuals worthy of infinite love.  We believe that the Son of said force (we call him God) was born from a young virgin, that He performed crazy miracles, taught people to love each other and love God, and died on a cross.  We believe that He came back from the dead and gave His believers the power to perform miracles greater than His.

Yes.  It sounds totally, completely, insanely nuts.  NUTS.

Yet it is the foundation for an entire faith claimed by millions of people.

Can people who even believe this stuff be considered rational?

I hope so.

I'm one of them.

I try to keep hot-button topics off my blog and other social media outlets.  With all the big stuff out there (Planned Parenthood, homosexual marriage, the Duggars, Bruce Jenner, etc.), it's so easy to misinterpret facts (or miss them, or leave them out completely), and voiced opinions quickly get passionate.  And ugly.  I'm on the verge of swearing off clickbait articles altogether and refusing to read comments on any other more "credible" new sources, too.  So often, reader responses overshadow the content in the story, and range from passive-aggressive Scripture quotes to hateful diatribes laced with atrocious accusations and even more atrocious grammar.  Frequently, the comments are aimed at other commenters, and not at the article itself.

With such venomous mud-slinging covering all people groups these days, Christians find themselves in a unique position.  At least in name, we were once the "ruling class" in America - especially white, middle- and upper-class Christians.  We suddenly find ourselves having to defend our beliefs in the face of a dramatically changing political and moral landscape.  As few as twenty years ago, a great many Americans identified as having mainstream Judeo-Christian beliefs.  Now, those same beliefs are considered by many to be outdated, intolerant, and bigoted.  The beliefs haven't changed but America has.

How do we continue to be heard - and actually listened to - in a country that frequently mocks our faith and denies our God?

Simple.

We speak quietly.  We choose gentle, respectful words.  

We let our actions speak for themselves.

We love more loudly than we talk.

This revelation hit me hard this week, when I posted my first comment about the Planned Parenthood scandal on my Facebook page.  A rather liberal friend from college noted - with great respect, I must add - that my source was mistaken.  Admittedly, I did not fact-check, because I respected the source of the article.  What followed was a careful, deliberate conversation about faith, facts, and - surprisingly - forensics.  Forensics as in debate, that is.  

When Christians - especially conservative Christians - choose to share their values, whether in a public or private setting, it is imperative that we fight fair.  People like to cite Jesus flipping over the moneylenders' tables at the temple (Mark 11:15) when they talk about an unfair status quo that needs to change. They forget, though, that the vast majority of His ministry was spent preaching, teaching, and healing.  He taught with stories and parables.  He knew the Scripture, inside and out.  He loved God, and obedience to God was His first (and only) priority.  Jesus always had His priorities and His facts straight.  He spoke with love to the people who were truly curious about what He was saying .  He ignored the naysayers and refused to chase them down with Scripture after Scripture, citing why they should follow Him.  Instead, He answered them simply, with the Truth (Mark 2)  I have a hard time believing that He, were He walking the earth today, would hashtag his status updates with #sorrynotsorry and #justsayin.  I'm thinking He wouldn't spend hours trolling controversial news topics and making snarky comments at other people.  I don't even know how much time He would spend picketing abortion clinics.  Yes - I went there.  I'm not saying He wouldn't oppose them (He stood by the Law, which forbids murder, so I don't think there's a question there), but instead of ranting and raving about injustice, He spent hours teaching the people who wanted to learn.  He spent most of His time with people who "got" Him (even though Scripture tells us that none of them ever really did until He had been resurrected).  He poured into them so that they could teach, preach and heal others.  

I throw down the gauntlet - a challenge for Internet-savvy Christians - particularly American ones, and particularly conservative ones.  Can you be as deliberate as Jesus in your next social interaction online?  Can you refrain from name-calling?  Can you do more than just post a verse and wait for others to bite?  Can you stand up for the disadvantaged without shaming them or others?  Can you enter into a debate with collected thoughts, respect for your opponent, and the desire to rationally represent a totally irrational faith?  I am not saying that we should sit quietly by while our country falls apart.  Being collected and rational does not mean that we stop sharing our beliefs.  Not at all!  But it means that we acknowledge that we won't get anywhere by handing out religious tracts and side-eye at the same time.  We can't say that we love others while we force fear down their throats, while we call them disgusting and obscene.   With double-talk, we play into the title of "hypocrite" that they have given us, even as we drive them farther and farther from the Truth.

Or have we forgotten that we were saved from our own sin by the One whose name we have taken - not by any act of our own?

"Then we will no longer be immature like children.  We won't be tossed and blown about by every wind of new teaching.  We will not be influenced when people try to trick us with lies so clever they sound like the truth.  Instead, we will speak the truth in love, growing in every way more and more like Christ, who is the head of his body, the church." - Ephesians 4:14-15

The verse above indicates that becoming more like Christ is a result of acting out of love - specifically, speaking the truth in a loving, respectful way.  It contrasts this behavior with the chasing of new ministry fads and ways of thinking, encouraging the readers - early Christians - to stick to the simple truth of the Gospel and not get caught up in how to make it cooler, more relevant, or prettier.  Sometimes, I think the circus that is social media makes it very easy for aspects of our faith to be blown out of proportion, or to easily bury the simple truth of God's love in piles of controversy, quotes, statistics, and half-truths.  A verse, taken out of context, can incite riots.  We have become a deeply sensitive people, ready to take offense at virtually anything.  We are ready to take up arms to fight a war born of misunderstanding.  We are willing to scream about injustice and morality at the top of our voices, yet we refuse to listen when the Holy Spirit leads us into quiet conversations, meditation, prayer.  We have become unreasonable in every way.

I love what the Lord says in Isaiah 1:18.  He is speaking to his beloved, but rebellious people.  They have trampled his commandments time and again, and been out from under his protection as a result.  They have chased false idols and wooed other gods, they have disobeyed him, disregarded him, mocked him.  Yet he is patient and he invites them back into his arms: "Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."  He then simply asks for obedience and promises great blessings - unseen and unimagined blessings.  He promises Jesus, Whose blood - in the years to come - will make them clean again.

If God sets forth the invitation to be reasonable, cannot we, as Christians, follow suit?  Let us share that beautiful, irrational, ridiculous, extravagant, endless love that saved us from hell.  But let's do it with clear minds and careful words.  Let the sparks we ignite be the flames of revival - not flame wars.